


It Only Takes One to Tango

by Fides



Category: due South
Genre: Dancing, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Multi, mmom, mmom 2008, mmom 2008: day 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-08
Updated: 2008-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fides/pseuds/Fides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's thoughts on dancing</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Only Takes One to Tango

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow._

There's a saying that it takes two to tango. If you asked my partner he could probably tell you where that particular pearl of wisdom comes from and, if you are particularly unlucky, will throw in a few stories about dancing caribou or dancing with caribou or some such. That's because he's a freak.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow._

I couldn't tell you any of that stuff, but what I can tell you is that it is crap: total grade-A bullshit. Or as Fraser would put it: not entirely factually accurate.

_Quick, quick, slow._

The thing of it is, while two is the traditional number for a tango it is not the minimum except to officials.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow._

Take me for instance. Now I used to have a dance partner. Blond, beautiful, balls-ey... the only place I led was on the dance floor, and we were both happy with that.

_Quick, quick, slow._

Then she left and I was on my own, and, yeh - I didn't like it one bit. You see I'd been dancing with this girl for years, since before I knew that passion was more than what you felt for your new bike. She was my first dance partner and I thought she would be my last. It wasn't like I had done some practicing on my own, what young man hadn't, but she was the one who put the lightness into my step and the beat in my heart.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow._

After that things changed. When you don't have a regular partner you have two choices, you either fill your dance card or you practice by your self while you wait for the right person to come along. I did both for a while but when you have been dancing with someone for a long time then you find it hard to adjust to another person's style. It's a closely guarded, but universally known, secret - sometimes you just feel like dancing a solo number. There's no pressure, no audience, no judge. It means you can just enjoy the feeling and no steps are wrong.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow._

The thing with dancing is, you never quite know who your perfect partner is. It might be the person you click with straight way or the freak who drives you totally crazy. Sometimes that's the same person. And he isn't what you expect.

_Quick, quick, slow._

That's right, I said he.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow._

I've danced with guys a few times. Not often, I'll grant, but when you are out of the circuit there are the odd dances where everyone mixes it up and the guys partner the guys and the girls partner the girls or you're practising and that's the way things fall. Everyone does it. If you haven't danced with someone of your own gender within three months of signing up for lessons then you haven't been going to classes. It doesn't mean anything. Most of the time. That's the dance world for you. The police world, that's a bit different.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow._

In the police you get assigned a partner and you have to try and forge a duet, find your rhythm so you become a one-two punch. Sometimes you find the slow-quick-quick chase of the Rumba works, other times it's the forward-side-together glide of the Waltz or the energetic bob and weave of the Jive. Sometimes you get so good that you freestyle it, shift from one thing to the next as the music changes and who leads doesn't matter as much as the fact that you are in concert. Other times you can't find the rhythm whatever you do, like you have four left feet between you and every move seems to be a mis-step.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow._

When that happens you either have to get off the floor or work out what the problem is. If you're dancing then the worst you face are a few squished toes and looking an idiot.

_Quick, quick, slow._

On the street the results can get someone killed. Real murder on the dance floor.

_Slow. Slow. Quick, quick, slow._

But the point is, and I was getting to it, even when you find the dance partner you want, even when you are ready to get on the floor with them every night and twice on Sundays. Even then...

_Quick, quick, slow._

Sometimes you just want to dance a slow tango on your own.

_Pose._


End file.
